


Distractions

by d_dandelions



Series: Axii Omo Shenanigans [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Boners, Getting Together, Humiliation, Kink Discovery, M/M, Mind Control, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting, this is possibly a generous explicit rating but there's a fair chunk of boner talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25648195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_dandelions/pseuds/d_dandelions
Summary: Geralt uses Axii to help Jaskier in an uncomfortable situation......if only he'd remembered to undo it afterwards
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Axii Omo Shenanigans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855774
Comments: 18
Kudos: 268
Collections: Witcher Omorashi





	Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, Axii omo that's completely separate from the Axii omo fic I'm already writing! 
> 
> chaos-monkeyy suggested using Axii to take away the feeling of needing to pee, which is an _excellent_ idea and also gave me the fun challenge of writing a desperation fic without all that much desperation lmao. Chaos, thanks for letting me steal your idea and for always being so brilliant, you rock my socks off 
> 
> Just a quick warning: there's a section in the middle of this where Geralt's worried Jaskier's sick. Jaskier's definitely NOT sick and it's more melodramatic than anything else but we're living through some scary times so if the thought of a character worrying about another's health is upsetting to you proceed with caution and take care of yourself <3

There’s a reason he doesn’t like to take Jaskier on hunts.

Technically, he hadn’t even really _taken_ him on this one in the true sense of the word, Jaskier had simply followed him and refused to leave, but he hadn’t put up too much of a fuss. He should have put up more of a fuss. But he didn’t and now they’re both crouched in the bushes, staring at a dead cow stuffed with buckthorn strategically positioned a few hundred metres away in the middle of the clearing, waiting for an archgriffin to show up. And Jaskier’s being distracting. 

Jaskier’s always distracting to Geralt, even on the rare occasions he’s not trying to be, but this is excessive. He’s fidgeting and restless and he keeps casting furtive glances into the woods behind him. He looks nervous but he doesn’t smell at all of real fear and Geralt wonders what’s wrong with him. Knowing Jaskier he won’t have to wait too long to find out.

“How long do you think this is going to take, approximately? Just a rough estimate is fine, really, it’s just that, well…” Jaskier glances over his shoulder again, looking decidedly uncomfortable, “I need to pee.”

Well, there it was. Geralt sighs.

“How?”

“How? _How_? Geralt now is really not the time to play the mighty witcher, untroubled by petty human foibles like urination. You pee too, I’ve seen you pee.”

“I meant how do you have to go _now_ , Jaskier.” 

“Oh! Water, mostly. A little ale.”

Geralt sighs again. It’s not entirely Jaskier’s fault, he’s no witcher and he hasn’t been on enough hunts for habits like monitoring his food and liquid intake in the preceding hours to become second nature. Still, his constant movement and the hint of anxiety that’s entered his scent is taking up far too much of Geralt’s attention for him to let it go on. With a contemplative hum, that Jaskier unsubtly rolls his eyes at, he weighs up their options. 

Letting Jaskier wander off into the woods to relieve himself alone isn’t even worth considering. The griffin is undoubtedly close by and the scent of fresh bard might prove too much more enticing than dead cow. But, just as surely, Geralt can’t leave the bait unsupervised to go with him. The griffin might stop to feed but it’s just as likely to carry the carcass away to its nest, in which case Geralt needs to be ready to follow it at a moment’s notice. He briefly considers telling Jaskier to piss directly into the bush they’re hidden behind but the sharp scent of urine is far too likely to alert the griffin to their presence and he doesn’t want to lose the advantage of surprise. The only real option is for Jaskier to keep holding it and relieve himself when Geralt has the griffin otherwise occupied. He tells the bard as much and, from Jaskier’s quiet groan of despair, he knows it’s unwelcome news. 

He doesn’t _like_ feeling like he can’t take proper care of Jaskier, even in a situation as juvenile as this. Gods damn it, this was supposed to be a simple hunt. 

“I can’t help you,” his tone isn’t quite apologetic but he manages to keep it away from complete neutrality and he refrains from telling Jaskier he should have visited the privy earlier. Maybe the bard’s influence is finally paying off. 

“You could! You could do your…” Jaskier makes a vague hand gesture in the air, “witcher magic thing!”

It worries Geralt how little time it takes him to work out what Jaskier means. 

Axii? For _this_? He can just imagine Vesemir scolding him for using his training for such a trivial purpose but Jaskier looks desperately uncomfortable and this is a distraction neither of them can afford. He wouldn’t be able to do anything about the physical fullness of Jaskier’s bladder but he could at least alleviate the discomfort until the bard was in a position to relieve himself. He gives the bard a long look. Jaskier’s got his thighs pressed together and he’s biting at his lower lip. Geralt glances towards the clearing. No griffin in sight. It could be _hours_ before it shows up.

“Fuck.” 

Jaskier must pick up on the resignation in his tone because he brightens instantly. He turns to Geralt and spreads his arms, tilting his head back in an overdramatic and entirely unnecessary gesture of submission that makes Geralt want to bite marks into his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second to clear his thoughts and makes the sign.

“You will stop feeling the need to piss.” 

Geralt hadn’t realised just how tense Jaskier had been until he relaxes with a sigh of relief. Good. The witcher turns his gaze back to the clearing and leaves Jaskier to get accustomed to his newly rediscovered comfort.

When Geralt turns back Jaskier’s poking at his stomach with a look of baffled amazement.

“ _Stop it_ Jaskier.” The bard might not feel the urge to go anymore but he could still end up forcing urine out of his bladder if he’s not careful and then all of this would have been for naught. 

“I can’t believe it _worked_ ,” Geralt’s a little offended by his incredulity, “have you ever even _thought_ about how many times we could have used your magical piss powers?”

Geralt’s saved from having to answer by the harsh shriek of a hunting griffin. 

**

It’s a long, long fight and Geralt feels utterly drained by the end of it. Jaskier, on the other hand, is practically giddy from the spectacle, immediately subjecting Geralt to a detailed account of the fight’s most memorable moments. His enthusiasm lasts right up until Geralt begins the decapitation process at which point he steps away and claims he’s going to provide invaluable moral support rather than any practical help. Geralt rolls his eyes and drags the head back to attach to Roach’s saddle. After a few minutes of rope tying, which Jaskier also flatly refuses to help with, they’re ready to start the journey back. 

Jaskier’s wastes no time getting started on his song, testing out rhymes and interrogating Geralt about the difference between royal griffins and archgriffins as he strums some experimental chord sequences. It’s a well-practiced routine, Geralt grunts and gives Jaskier an occasional one sentence answer and the bard embellishes and reimagines from there. The resulting story would make a horrible guide for fighting griffins and has very little to do with the hunt Geralt had just carried out but Jaskier claims it’s a wonderful adventure narrative. Geralt turns in his saddle so he can mock Jaskier’s lyrical inaccuracies to his face but the words fade from his mind before he can speak them. 

Jaskier looks…..strained. His normal, happy smile is completely at odds with the sweat beading on his forehead. He looks vaguely like he’s struggling to lift something heavy but his walk is as light and bouncy as always. Geralt listens hard for a moment. His heartbeat is regular, slightly fast from the exertion of keeping pace with Roach. He dismounts under the guise of checking the ropes attaching the griffin’s head to Roach and discreetly sniffs Jaskier’s hair as he passes him. No change to his scent. 

Geralt’s not sure what to do. Humans get sick so easily for all sorts of reasons and just because Jaskier smells normal doesn’t mean there isn’t something wrong. Then again, it might not be something dire. Maybe Jaskier’s just hungry or dehydrated. Maybe he just needs to rest for a minute. If it doesn’t work Geralt can always give him a more thorough sniffing to determine the problem once Jaskier’s fallen asleep tonight.

“We’re stopping for a while.”

He’s interrupted Jaskier mid-sentence but the bard doesn’t look particularly offended. He _does_ look confused and it’s understandable. They’re only a couple of hours ride from Crow’s Perch and Geralt’s not typically in the habit of making unnecessary stops. The confused crease of his brow only deepens when Geralt hands him a waterskin and some dried meat from Roach’s saddlebag before turning him in the direction of a fallen tree and gesturing for him to sit down. 

It’s fine. Jaskier can be as confused as he likes. Geralt’s provided him with food, water and a chance to rest and now everything’s going to be fine and Jaskier’s going to start looking better. Geralt’s sure of it. 

**

A few minutes later Jaskier looks much worse. 

He’s pale and sweating even in the cool autumnal air and Geralt’s starting to worry about poison. Exactly _how_ the bard could have been poisoned in the last few hours is an entirely separate concern. He hadn’t been anywhere close to the griffin before it was dead and, even if he had, archgriffin acid would have burned his skin not made him sick. It’s not that. 

So what _is_ it? 

Infuriatingly Jaskier seems utterly untroubled by whatever’s happening to his body, talking jovially, ostensibly to Geralt but mostly just to himself, about the success he anticipates for his new song between enthusiastic bites of meat. Maybe he needs fresh food. Geralt could hunt a deer for him but it might take a while and he doesn’t want to leave Jaskier in case he gets worse. He can smell strawberries nearby which might be a better option. Jaskier loves strawberries. Before he can suggest either Jaskier gestures a little too broadly and Geralt catches a whiff of strained discomfort that he’s not sure Jaskier’s even aware of. Fuck, he might need to get a mage for this. Yennefer’s saved Jaskier before and she likes him, even if she’d never admit to it. She might be willing to help if Geralt can get in contact with her. 

His thoughts are jarringly interrupted when Jaskier stands up abruptly and lurches to one side with a panicked whimper. Geralt bolts to join him, reaching out to help him steady himself and Jaskier all but collapses into Geralt, leaning his full weight against the witcher and clinging to him with a shaky breath. Fuck, what is _happening_ to him? 

If he leaves the griffin trophy behind Roach can carry him and Jaskier to the nearest town in less than an hour but, without the money from the contract, he won’t be able to pay for a mage’s services. Bargaining and trading favours it will have to be then. Jaskier can’t die, not here, not like this. He’d want to die in a way that’s beautiful and ballad worthy or at least in front of someone who’s willing to fabricate a beautiful, ballad worthy death for him when they tell the story. Geralt has no gift for storytelling, he can’t give Jaskier that, so Jaskier _can’t die like this_. He’s shaken from his frantic planning when Jaskier tenses briefly before going utterly limp with a long, loud moan. 

………it’s not a _pained_ moan. 

He hears the unmistakable hiss of fast-flowing liquid a moment before he smells urine but it’s not until he feels the warm wetness flowing from Jaskier’s crotch and onto his own legs that something clicks in his mind and he realises with a shock of cold horror that he never lifted Axii. 

Of _course_. Jaskier wasn’t sick or poisoned and he certainly wasn’t dying. Jaskier was absolutely desperate to go and, thanks to Geralt, he hadn’t been able to tell. 

And now he’s wetting himself. Or rather, he’s wetting them _both_. 

The little sighs and moans Jaskier’s making remind Geralt a bit too much of the noises he hears from Jaskier’s bedroll late at night when he thinks he’s being quiet and the slight shifting of his legs as the fabric of his pants starts to cling uncomfortably is making Geralt want to rut against him. To his utter mortification he can feel himself getting hard. Jaskier’s thoroughly soaking both of them because of Geralt’s stupid, irresponsible mistake and Geralt’s _getting hard_ over it. He wants to push Jaskier away before he notices but he doesn’t look ready to support his own weight again yet. Geralt mentally berates himself for not piecing together what was happening to Jaskier earlier. Fuck, the bard’s bladder must be literally full to bursting for him to be wetting himself now and…..

This sort of thought is _not_ helping Geralt get his dick back under control. 

“Fuck, Geralt, it feels _so good_.”

It comes out as an ecstatic moan and Geralt really can’t be blamed for the way his cock jumps where it’s pressed against Jaskier’s thigh. Fuck. Jaskier doesn’t seem to have noticed, completely limp and overwhelmed with relief as he is, so Geralt takes the opportunity to re-angle his hips. The new position’s arguably even worse, his thigh’s somehow ended up pressed against Jaskier’s crotch and now he can _feel_ just how hard he’s pissing, his stream flowing right through his breeches and soaking Geralt’s leg. Geralt has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from groaning. He shifts again, this time moving so he’s not so tightly pressed against Jaskier. The cold air that hits Jaskier’s drenched legs seems to snap him out of his daze a little and he presses his head further into Geralt’s shoulder with a distraught keen. 

“Geralt,” he sounds uncharacteristically unsure of himself, his voice muffled by Geralt’s neck, “please tell me I got knocked unconscious and I’m dreaming and not really _pissing all over us both_ right now.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh _fuck_.” 

He sounds utterly humiliated. Geralt pats his back as comfortingly as he can manage and Jaskier laughs softly. It’s a good sign; hopefully Jaskier won’t be distraught enough over this to leave when Geralt explains the situation. His stream is finally starting to slow and Geralt tries to force his erection down thinking about how they’re going to make themselves presentable after this. He can wash his leathers off just by walking through a river and clean Jaskier’s boots the same way but the bard’s pants are unquestionably ruined. Geralt has a spare pair which he can lend him and that’s…..fine. He’ll just have to forget how good Jaskier looked and sounded wetting himself while the bard walks around wearing his clothes. Fine. Easy. 

Jaskier’s finished peeing now and he’s untangling himself from Geralt’s grasp, backing away and staring at the ground, his face bright red. 

“If you’d be amenable,” he still isn’t looking at Geralt, “I think we’d both feel _much_ better going forward if we agreed to forget this whole…. _incident_ enti-“ 

Now he _is_ looking at Geralt. Everything is silent as Jaskier glances back and forth between his own soaked breeches, Geralt’s blown pupils and the prominent erection that the witcher had completely failed to rid himself off. He still smells a little of embarrassment but now he looks utterly _delighted_. He holds Geralt’s gaze for a long moment and beams when he finds whatever it was he was searching for in it. 

“Upon further consideration,” Jaskier actually _licks his lips_ looking at Geralt’s crotch, “maybe I could be persuaded to remember a _few_ key moments.”

**

For the next three months in Crow’s Perch scandalous gossip flies about a witcher who killed an archgriffin and a bard in a mismatched outfit who followed after him with a smug smile and a plethora of bite marks covering his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Come and find me on tumblr at diuretic-dandelions, if you'd like!


End file.
